


In Which Hilbert Curses Eiffel’s High School Crush

by LiterallyThePresident



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Hilbert jacking off like “this is bullshit”, It’s intended to be onesided but y’all can image whatever you want, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 02:20:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17295872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiterallyThePresident/pseuds/LiterallyThePresident
Summary: Eiffel speaks a sentence or two of Russian. Hilbert is not expecting his own response to it.





	In Which Hilbert Curses Eiffel’s High School Crush

**Author's Note:**

> I like the idea of Hilbert having a onesided lust for Eiffel because it would add so much drama

“Hey, what does this do?” Eiffel asked by way of greeting, poking at a petri dish that floated by the door. Hilbert didn’t hide his annoyance at the man’s unannounced entrance.

“Is common bacteria. Do not touch.”

“And this?” he made to push a red button on the nearest wall.

“Will hurt if you touch it.” Hilbert warned.

“What about thi-“

“Eiffel.” Hilbert growled, patience thinning rapidly, “Unless you have explicit purpose for being here, leave.”

“Yeah, yeah, _rad_ _tebya_ _videt_ ', _doktor_.” Eiffel rolled his eyes, “Just wanted to say hi, is all, yeesh.” But Hilbert hadn’t heard anything he’d said, reeling at the sudden, unexpected heat that had surged in his stomach. He was suddenly... uncomfortably warm.

“You... speak Russian?” he asked slowly, lowering his pen. God, why did that go straight to his cock? Eiffel shrugged, completely unaware of the effect his throwaway sentence was having on Hilbert right now.

“Nope. Just like... a few phrases.” he waved, “I went to high school with this Russian transfer student, and I had the biggest crush on him so I tried learning some to impress him.”

“I see...” Hilbert replied slowly, “Did it work?”

“Nope. He was tragically heterosexual.” Eiffel sighed, “But ah well. His loss, am I right?” Hilbert snorted rudely at that, and Eiffel gave an offended squawk.

“If you are done wasting my time, have very important work to do.” Hilbert said as evenly as he could, silently praying for Hera to keep quiet about his little problem, “Either be useful of get out. Cannot afford distractions at this time.” Eiffel gave him an annoyed look, sighing dramatically.

“Whatever. _Do_ _svidaniya_ , doc. Try not to choke on the stick up your ass.” and then he was gone, leaving Hilbert with a raging erection and a dawning horrified realization.

Eiffel speaking Russian _did_ something to him. Eiffel speaking Russian _affected_ him in a way he didn’t dare name.

He’d been on this damned station too long.

With a muttered curse, he set his work aside and slipped into his office, locking the door and silently cursing Eiffel’s name. He hurriedly slipped on a condom, unable to believe he’d reached this point but unable to deny the want coursing through his body. Groaning in resignation, he reached down and took himself in hand, closing his eyes. It was humiliating how quickly he was able to get himself to full hardness with just the memory of the melodic syllables on Eiffel’s lips, but Hilbert justified it by telling himself that it was only natural for a gay man to fantasize about the only other man around for lightyears.

It didn’t lessen his annoyance at himself any.

Eiffel’s hands were slightly smaller than his, but imagination was a funny thing. Hilbert pictured the man kneeling before him, smiling that friendly smile as he slowly stroked him, the tip of that pink tongue wetting those lips, deft hands steady and dark eyes appreciative. If there was one thing Hilbert could concede about the insufferable man, it was that he had the most striking eyes.

The fantasy took shape as he gripped a nearby bar to steady himself, finding a rhythm that worked for him. He’d most likely take Eiffel strapped to his examination table, or maybe bent over it. Either way, straps would be involved to keep the energetic man still. He’d prepare him, because he was so nice, until he was stretched and dripping and keening for him to just fuck him already. And Hilbert would. He’d press into him steadily, burying himself deep inside him until he was completely sheathed in that heavenly heat. God, Hilbert felt his cock throb just at the thought of how he would feel, how Eiffel would writhe and squirm and push back against him, trying to get him deeper. How those slender hands would scrabble uselessly at the table, how he would bite his lip and make the neediest noises.

Perhaps he’d try speaking more Russian to try and egg him on. Just the thought of Eiffel’s voice, his American accent fumbling the pronunciation, had a surprisingly strong effect on Hilbert. His breath hitched just picturing the minuscule expressions that would play across Eiffel’s face as Hilbert slid slowly out and then back in, the way his breath would hitch, the tightness and heat that would surround him, the satisfaction in knowing he’d finally managed to shut the insufferable man up.

Then again, Eiffel would probably be even more whiny in bed. He was probably a needy thing, all grabby hands and fluttering eyelashes. Those long legs would probably wrap demandingly around his waist, urging him deeper as Eiffel rambled some nonsense about how this was ‘just like James Bond’ or some other inane comparison. But there would be no danger of too much talking. If Eiffel began to babble, Hilbert could just fuck him harder, until he forgot everything except his name.

Would he be lewd, Hilbert wondered idly, or shy? Would he be too embarrassed to look Hilbert in the eyes, burying his face in his shoulder and trying to stifle his noises? Perhaps he’d be nervous, laughing awkwardly and babbling to fill the quiet between their breaths and yelping in surprise when Hilbert grabbed his hips and slammed him down on his cock. Or maybe he’d be experienced, have some hidden talents. Maybe he’d drag Hilbert down for a searing kiss as his bitten-down nails raked down his back, brushing his lips against his ear and murmuring filthy words of praise and desire, moaning softly as Hilbert filled him, back arching like a Volgograd prostitute-

Hilbert groaned, hand speeding up of it’s volition. He let go of the bar to cover his mouth before Eiffel’s name could escape his traitorous lips. It wouldn’t do for Hera to overhear. Was Eiffel a screamer? Because there was absolutely no way Douglas Eiffel was a quiet fuck. He’d either talk his way through sex or make a thousand tiny noises that would drive Hilbert mad. He’d probably learn more Russian, just to be an asshole at inconvenient times. Hilbert would definitely be taking a lot more breaks in his office if that ever came to pass.

But he was close already, he could feel the heat coiling in his stomach as his hand sped up. He imagined Eiffel’s silky warmth around him as he chased his release, fantasizing about those knees pressed to his hips, those thin wrists tiny and fragile in his grip, that lithe form writhing underneath him, those plush, bitten lips parted so sweetly, crying out _Slozhneye_ , _pozhaluysta_! _Dmitri_ , _Dmitri_ , _Dmitri_ -

He came with a smothered groan, spilling into the condom with a choked off cry of Eiffel’s name. He panted in the silence of his office, trying to catch his breath after the most intense orgasm he’d had in months. As the pleasure faded, shame and self-loathing swiftly crept in to replace it. The mighty Doctor Alexander Hilbert, brought low simply because the only other man on the station spoke a little Russian. God, he must be losing his mind at last, if he’d just desperately touched himself to thoughts of _Eiffel_. How much lower could his standards drop, he wondered. Eugh. He needed a shower.

But even as he tucked himself back into his pants and left for his quarters, he couldn’t quite banish the images from his mind. He shook his head as if to dislodge them, determined not to let this affect his work. But something told him he’d be feeling a little awkward around Eiffel for the next few days, despite his best efforts. The human need for contact was truly a pathetic thing.

Fuck this station. And fuck Douglas Eiffel.


End file.
